t humor and exquisite wit to
that degree that she had to smother her laughter from beginning to end.
Mr. March was finishing it a second time and had not smiled. Twice or
thrice he had almost frowned. Yet as he pushed its open pages across the
table he said ever so pleasantly,

"That's a mighty nice letter, Johanna; who's going to answer it for
you?"

"Hit done answ'ed, seh. I ans' it same night it come. My fatheh writ de
answeh; yass, seh, Unc' Leviticus."

"Oh, yes. Well, you couldn't 'a' chosen better--Oh! Miss Barb says
here"--Mr. March gathered up the sheets again--"'write me all you hear
about the land company.' That's just so's to know how her father gets
on, I reckon, ain't it?" He became so occupied with the letter that the
girl did not have to reply. He was again reading it through. This time
he repeatedly smiled, and as he folded it and gave it up he said once
more,

"Yes, it's a nice letter. Does Miss Barb know where to mail the next one
to you?"

"I ain't had no chaynce to sen' her word, seh."

"Why, that's a pity! You ought to do that at once, Johanna, and let her
know you've got here safe and well--if only for her sake! I'll do it for
you to-night, if you'd like me to."

Johanna thankfully assented.

Mr. March did not ponder, this time, as to what the opening phrase of
the letter should be; and as he sealed the "hurried note" he did so with
the air of a man who is confident he has made no mistake. It began,
"Dear Miss Barb."

LXV.

THE ENEMY IN THE REAR

A new week came in with animating spring weather. On Monday Fannie sat
up, and on Tuesday, when John called, her own smile surprised him at the
door, while Johanna's reflected it in the background.

He felt himself taken at a disadvantage. His unready replies to her
lively promptings turned aimlessly here and there; his thoughts could
neither lead nor follow them. The wine of her pretty dissembling went to
his head; while the signs of chastening in her fair face joined
strangely with her sprightliness in an obscure pathetic harmony that
moved his heartstrings as he had felt youthfully sure they were never to
be moved again. His late anger against Ravenel came back, and with it,
to his surprise, the old tenderness for her, warmed by the anger and
without the bitterness of its old chagrin. He found himself reminded of
his letters to Johanna's distant mistress, but instantly decided that
the two matters had nothing to do with each ot